Friday, September 26, 2014

Touch screens. Interactive games. Listening stations. Simulated experiences. If you've visited the National Constitution Center, you've probably participated in at least one of these activities. During this week's visit, I was presented with the task of exploring an interactive in the NCC's main exhibition. The object that best captured my attention in what can be an overstimulating space was The Law Making Machine.

Incorporating text, animation and audio, visitors
can explore how laws are made by participating in a simulated bill review
process. Selecting "The Environmental Security Act," animated characters and accompanying text, informed me that this particular bill proposes a $2.00 surcharge to be added to the entrance fees for all visitors to National Parks. These funds would help to preserve and protect endangered plants and animals in the parks. Presented in the voice of the characters, the audio provides multiple points of view and reflects the opinions of the animated characters, members of a reviewing committee and the House of Representatives.The text in comparison, is presented in a well-informed bipartisan voice that narrates the law making process. I watch as characters present the issue and the texts reminds me that many bills die at this stage in the process.

The power was in my hands!

At this point, I am given the decision making power and have the option to vote “Yes” or “No.” Selecting “Yes,” I watch as the bill enters the House of Representatives and is debated. The text notes that if passed, the bill moves on to the Senate, and if approved, sent on to the President who can sign the act into law.

This object may be important to anyone interested in
learning more about the U.S. legislative process and the
specific roles played by each branches of government. Providing a participatory experience, this interactive “illuminate[s]
constitutional ideals,” and “inspire[s] active citizenship,” both of which are
central to the museum’s mission. Because of its subject matter, it would not be as engaging or well understood by audiences younger than a middle school level. As an object that tells its story though both audio and visuals, it could also be difficult for visitors with visual or hearing impairments to fully enjoy.

Midway through the main exhibition space, this interactive
is displayed on four individual pods. The pods face a center partition, which defines the space and helps to block out other sounds, screens, and
activities nearby. The partition also serves to slow down the flow of visitor
traffic throughout the circular gallery space. Paused, my attention was drawn
the interactive. Ahead of it stands a large, spiraling sculpture made of law-related books, which speaks to the subject of the interactive. I also interpreted it to suggest the vast, twisting and often convoluted nature of the law making process.

Hingy arms?

The audio,
visuals, text, and users role in the decision-making process are key
to making this object effective, however they may also send mixed messages. As
you can see here, the animated characters have hinges at their joints and
resemble paper dolls or puppets, like these:

Political Circus

Stars and Stripes Forever.

Puppets! All of you!

Their voices are also very melodramatic; whiny and aggressive, not pleasing to the ear. One could view this entire presentation as a
caricature of governmental leaders and processes. Users who may already take an “anti-government” stance could walk away feeling even more cynical. While it is intended to entertain, shouldn't the interactive also treat the legislative process with respect? After all, we’re talking
about a museum that is seeking to honor and celebrate our country’s legal
process and encourage citizen engagement, not mock it. On the other hand, perhaps this representation elicits meaningful conversation for visitors and allows for a critical discourse about systems of power. The choice word of "Machine" in the title suggests to me that this is an underlying intention on behalf of the museum.

There are many online resources that could help audiences of all ages to better understand the legislative process. I like this one for grade schoolers, and this slightly more complex chart for adults.

To read more about how museums can educate, provoke, and inspire through interactive experiences, check out Nina Simon's book, The Participatory Museum.

As it stands, the purpose of this object is to engage
visitors, however a few elements could be added to extend the learning beyond the museum walls. For instance, visitors could have the option to
email specific content to themselves, or type or record comments during the
debate. In addition to voting on the bill, some visitors might enjoy
being able to express their ideas and reactions.

In the midst of a sensory overloaded moment, I was generally relieved to discover The Law Making Machine. It is informative, slightly provocative and a little fun.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Larry and Nina Chertoff were small children
when their parents’ close friend, Maurice Sendak, aka “Uncle Moo Moo,” painted
this playful parade of animals and children on the wall of their New York City
apartment. Two lucky kids, right? Decades later, as they cleared out the apartment after their
mother’s death, Larry and Nina feared that the mural would likely be painted over by new tenants. Knowing that the Rosenbach Museum and Library (now officially The Rosenbach of the Free Library of Philadelphia) housed much of Sendak’s work and would be an ideal home for the mural, the
Chertoff’s contacted the museum. Eager to ensure the mural's longevity, the museum convinced the building owner to permit conservators to remove an entire wall in order to move and preserve the
artwork.

A conservator at work

It was an extensive and fascinating journey from the Upper West Side
to Delancey Place that included lots of sawing, heavy lifting, conservation,
repair and time…oh, and money. These videos here and here help to tell the whole story.

Clearly, the mural's importance has spread beyond the Chertoff family; book and art collectors, art conservators, illustrators, families, Rosenbach staff, and funders of the restoration project all top the list. The
mural demonstrates Sendak’s techniques and compositional style and includes
characters from his other works: The little girl appears to be
Rosie from The Sign on Rosie’s Door,
the dog (inspired by Sendak’s own dog Jennie) appears in several books,
including Kenny’s Windowand
Where The Wild Things Are.

Currently the mural is displayed on a wall at center of the Sendak Gallery. Text panels and interactives below the image introduce the history of the object, how it was conserved (including video footage), and explores its characters (visitors can tap to read more about each character on a touch screen). The text and audio are presented in a narrative museum voice that is formal, yet accessible to both children and adults.

Higglety Pigglety Pop! or There Must Be More to Life (1967)

Framed
black and white book illustrations line the opposing wall and provide deeper
insight into Sendak’s characters and illustrations. Created
between 1965-1970, these drawings demonstrate how the artist’s work evolved. By
this period, Sendak felt that the children’s picture book industry had devolved
into a cookie-cutter, money driven machine. In response, he continued to
experiment and presented ideas and images that many considered to be subversive.

To
enrich my exploration, I could watch additional videos about the mural, Sendak's other work, and interviews with the author online. Another strategy would be to camp out in the children's section of any Free Library branch and read every available Sendak book. Other authors have waxed poetic about Sendak and might be worth a read.

As a text label in the gallery notes, Sendak
wasn’t afraid to challenge authority or convention, both in his images and text: “Sendak was direct when it
came to formerly taboo presentations about race and ethnicity, children’s
bodies, unconventional behaviors and , as with the Where the Wild Things-
characters that frightened adults (but usually not kids).” While it would be
difficult to find fault with this playful mural, some people may feel some of Sendak’s
other work is frightening or offensive, and be disinterested in the Chertoff
mural by association.

Goblins from Outside Over There

Wild Things!

According
to an article on thehistoryblog.com, this restoration project (including
removal, transportation, conservation and installation) cost around $200,000.00.Funding was provided by the
William B. Dietrich Foundation, the
Connelly Foundation, the McLean Contributionship, and individual contributions. To play the devil’s advocate for a minute, was it financially worth
it? Does the mural tell a strong enough story? How does its significance compare to other Sendak works? Sure, some of the characters might relate to other works by artist, but the mural is a random collection of children and
animals. Had it illustrated a scene directly from a book, perhaps it would be
worth saving. I don’t support this opposing argument, particularly in light of
the recent news that most of the Sendak collection will be leaving the Rosenbach.
Now that it may be one of the remaining facets of the Sendak in the Rosenbach’s
collection, Rosie, Jennie the dog, and the rest of the parade will continue to
celebrate the author and honor the strong relationship he had with this great
Philadelphia institution.

To further engage viewers with this object, I might create a scavenger
hunt that challenges visitors (young audiences, in particular) to identify the mural's characters (or characters with
similar characteristics) in works throughout the gallery. Additionally, prompted with questions like, “Where
is the parade going?” “What occasion are they celebrating?” “How do you think
these characters are feeling?” visitors (middle school aged to adults) could participate in a writing exercise. Perhaps this user-generated content could be then collected and shared on social media, or within an interactive in the exhibit. There is talk of
the mural moving to the Central Branch of the Free Library, which could engage
a larger audience and allow for new programming. No matter its home, I'm confident that this parade of characters will continue to resonate with audiences, young and old.

Monday, September 15, 2014

During last week’s visit to the American Philosophical
Society, I was drawn to a small, simply framed oil painting, entitled Peale’s Museum. While many of the
objects in the exhibit, Jefferson, Philadelphia and the Founding of
a Nation were intricate prints of buildings, manuscripts and large portraits,
this tiny painting, approximately 7X9 inches in size, caught my eye. The image
centers on several red brick and brown rooftops. Windows and chimneys protrude
from the buildings forming numerous angles. A wooden fence appears at the
foreground, with some white items hanging over the top (clothes, perhaps?). Overall,
the lines and textures of the painting are soft and some of the forms are
indistinct.

Presented
in a narrative museum voice, the object label is crucial to identifying the
object and understanding why it is on display. I was particularly interested to
learn that the skylight in the
center of the painting was the first skylight in Philadelphia. The sky-lit room
within was Peale’s first portrait gallery! It would be challenging to rely on
visual clues to identify the painting’s subject or significance.

What is that significance, you ask? Peale’s Museum, and other
objects displayed nearby contribute to a larger narrative about the history of
the building where the APS Museum now stands, and gives insight into early
members of the American Philosophical Society, including Charles Wilson Peale. In
1786, Peale opened the first museum of natural history in the United States. First
at 3rd and Lombard Streets (as depicted in the painting), the museum was relocated to
Independence Hall and then Philosophical Hall (the building where is it
currently on display). The object could be important to APS members,
historians, and anyone who is interested in the history of Philadelphia, art, museology, science, and quirky specimens (Peale had many-check out those bones!).

Seeing
that Charles Wilson Peale was a member of APS, and that his brother created the
artwork, perhaps the painting was directly acquired from the Peale family.

The
painting is displayed slightly above eye level near the middle of a short wall
that is otherwise empty. However, due to the placement of other objects, and the fact that the exhibition space is not entirely square, the
painting almost feels tucked away in a corner. Speaking with my classmates,
some commented that they had initially walked by the painting without seeing it.

Admission Ticket

The Artist in His Museum

The
painting hangs behind a glass case that displays an admission ticket to the
Peale Museum and a print of Charles Wilson Peale proudly standing in his
museum. These objects help to bring the story of the Peale Museum to life—the richly
illustrated ticket depicts works in the collection, represents the admission
process, and also serves as a museum memento (I often save ticket stubs to
events and concerts, don't you?). Peering beyond Peale in the foreground, the print The Artist in His Museum gives viewers a
sneak peek into the Peale's collection, animating his cabinet of curiosities. While
these objects contribute significantly to our understanding of Peale’s Museum, the positioning of the display case adds to this “tucked-away-in-a-corner” feeling. Perhaps these few
objects are an intentional aside, as the exhibit primarily focuses on Thomas
Jefferson. Visitors could find this side narrative to be refreshing, while
others might be perplexed by why is it included in the exhibition.

This painting may not be as interesting to Thomas Jefferson buffs whose sole purpose of visiting the APS museum is to view the content directly associated with him. Disinterest could also stem from a slight accessibility issue; the painting’s small size and placement within the gallery may be prohibitive for some viewers, particularly on a crowded day.

The Peale Museum collection included paintings, sculpture and a large collection of taxidermied birds and animals. To discover more about Peale and his collection, spend some time online or curl up with a book, such as Charles Wilson Peale and His World by Edgar P. Richardson and Mr. Peale's Museum: Charles Willson Peale and the First Popular Museum of Natural Science and Art by Charles Coleman Sellers (quite a title, right?).

A visit to PAFA might also enrich my understanding of this object, as they have several objects in their collect
that were created by or relate to Charles Wilson Peale. One painting for
instance, The Old Museum, by Reubens
Peale,elaborates on James Peale's painting. He added a garden and a "Peale Museum”
sign to the scene. PAFA also has a oil on canvas iteration of the print on view at the APS Museum.

To further engage audiences with this object, I could create an interactive that
invites viewers 'inside the painting' to explore the art and scientific specimens that were part of
Peale’s collection. Viewers could view a gallery of images, tag their
favorites, and create their own virtual cabinet of curiosities.

Prior to developing any kind of programming or experience, I would likely attempt to change the placement of Peale’s Museum so that it is easier to view.

I've always been drawn to objects that have the ability to surprise; at first glance, an object may look like one thing, but upon closer inspection, it is something completely different, or something more. While it is actually a bronze sculpture,
this week's object appears to be a Savarin Coffee can filled with well-used
paintbrushes of various shapes and sizes. It is important
to audiences who appreciate or want to better understand contemporary art, smaller
artistic movements like Neo-Dadaism and most specifically, the work and life of
American artist Jasper Johns.

Bronze Sculpture, along with the
other pieces throughout the gallery where it is displayed at the PMA, embodies the work of an artist that has made
a meaningful impact on contemporary art. The artwork provides insight into Jasper
Johns, his intents, interests, and inspirations. As its accompanying text panel
(which is presented in a narrative museum voice) describes, Johns uses conventional
artistic practices, such as casting and painting, to recreate everyday objects.
He is interested in how viewers might perceive everyday objects as works of
art, and vice versa. Studying the object, I asked myself, 'Am I looking at a bunch of dirty brushes in a can or a sculpture?' I like when an artwork elicits this sort of inquiry and engagement.

Like all of the
artworks in the room, this sculpture is on loan from the collection of the
artist. While this is conjecture, I would think that all of the objects were
loaned to the museum at the same time, for the same length of time. The PMA
does have at least five other Johns works in their permanent collection, none of
which are currently on view.

The object is encased in a glass box atop a rectangular white
pedestal that is about three feet tall. The pedestal is positioned several feet
away from a wall so that visitors can walk 360 degrees around the sculpture. In the
Studio and Fall, both large encaustic
works, hang on the wall to the right and left of the sculpture. Across the
room, two additional cases of a similar size display sculptures of everyday
objects, including a flashlight and light bulbs.

Painting with Two Balls

Large scale canvases hang on
each wall of the space, including my personal favorite Johns piece, Painting with Two Balls. These works
help to give viewers a more comprehensive view of Johns as an artist, and showcase
other materials and techniques he utilizes in his work, including encaustic,
collage and plaster relief.

To enrich my understanding of Bronze Sculpture, I could pick up a book about the life and art of Jasper Johns, and delve into contemporary art movements such as Abstract Impressionism, Pop
Art, and Neo-Dadaism through books, online resources, and documentaries.

Individuals who do not appreciate contemporary art would not
be interested in this object, nor likely any of Jasper Johns’ work. One might argue that there is nothing artistic or
creative about replicating everyday objects (although tell that to the European
Masters painters and their bowls of fruit). Critics could assert that this work
has no meaning or value, that it is not more significant than an actual coffee
can full of paintbrushes. But what is
significance and who or what determines it? These are the types
of questions I think Jasper Johns poses to his viewers.

Bicycle Wheel by Marcel Duchamp

To further engage viewers with this object, one could develop a museum tour or lecture focused on the use of paradoxes and iconography in contemporary art. In addition to Jasper Johns, the work of artists like Robert Rauschenberg, Marcel Duchamp, Andy Warhol, Willem de Kooning could be highlighted, and the approaches of each artist compared and contrasted. Participants could learn about how conventional symbols create and carry meaning, as well as how visual objects can be divorced from what they may represent in another context. They could also be invited to consider and discuss the roles objects play in their own lives. Like me, they may be surprised by what they find.

Monday, September 1, 2014

Some my earliest memories were created at my Nana’s kitchen
table. Nana lived across town and I would often spend time alone with her. She
was my favorite person. We’d dine on salads of iceberg lettuce and sliced tomatoes with a dash of Catalina dressing served in small, smooth bowls that were designed to look like wood, but were actually some sort of plastic. Those same bowls would hold breakfasts of Wheat Chex and
sliced banana. Lunch would often be PB&J on wheat bread, cleanly cut
into four squares, cottage cheese, apple slices, Fig Newtons, all neatly
arranged on small white plates.

Nana's table has a 2 inch plastic or Formica top and shiny, chrome legs. It is round, but can be extended into a oval by flipping up
an extra leaf. A small television sat on one end of the table, for watching
The Price Is Right, Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune (this was back when Vanna
White had to manually turn the letters). I would draw as Nana worked on crossword puzzles, or hand
mending projects. I’d sip orange juice from a Garfield cup while Nana had her double
insulated plastic tumbler, which I later realized wasn't just seltzer.

Notice the owl necklace.Nana was an original hipster.

Nana passed away when I was in college, and I was fortunate
to inherit this table. At first, it was prominently displayed in the center of the
kitchen in apartments I shared with friends and created many new memories around
it. I’d often find my roommate's cat on the table and shooing it away would
yell, “Nana does not allow cats on the table!!”

Here’s the thing, though, I’ve intentionally omitted one significant
detail about this object: it’s Pepto Bismalpink. While it made perfect sense alongside the
pastel wallpaper and countertops in Nana’s kitchen, displayed anywhere else, its
color evokes an upset stomach. So, for many years, aesthetics have outweighed sentimentality. When my boyfriend-now-husband and I moved in together, I agreed that
his stainless steel-topped table (great craigslist find, eventually resold on
craigslist when we moved to solid wood) was a better option for our space. Nana’s
table was dismantled and stored in the basement.

When we bought our house last year, Nana’s table remained
disassembled and currently resides along a wall in our basement, surrounded by
shelves of camping gear, tools, scraps of wood and bottles of vintage
buttons (also from Nana). These objects represent some of my hobbies: hiking
and camping, DIY house projects often created by wood scraps salvaged from
dumpsters, and hoarding buttons.

We are now on our third dining table, this one purchased from a
neighbor, Joel.

Current kitchen table.
Breakfast is ready!

It had belonged to Joel's grandmother and had been sitting in his
basement for nine years. In case you were wondering, I feel a complexity of
emotions about this; Somedays I feel I am eating with someone else’s grandmother while Nana waits alone in the cold, dark basement.

While it has not been displayed or used in over six years,
Nana’s table remains one of my most prized possessions. It embodies so many meals
and memories. It almost embodies Nana, a person. I can’t let go. Nana's table would
be of no interest to those who dislike retro furniture, sentimental family
heirlooms, round tables, and shades of pink. From the view of a mid-century furniture collector, this may be a story of neglect, rather than love. Am I
neglecting this table? Neglecting my past? Should I either use it or sell it? Am I being selfish by
neither using it nor passing it along? Maybe.

There are some good videos to get me started in an overhaul
project: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trDIjqCP6HY and my dad would also be a good resource, for the Pepto Bismal
pink was actually his doing. Formerly pale yellow and white-specked, Nana asked my dad to refinish the table to compliment her kitchen updates in the 1970s.

I am determined to give Nana’s table a new life, even if it means
throwing a table cloth over it and using it for art and sewing projects in the basement for
a while. I want to build new stories around it, while crafting with buttons and enjoying bourbon and Fig Newtons. Won’t you join me?